In June 2014, Governor Terry McAuliffe appointed Ron Smith the poet laureate of Virginia. Smith is the writer-in-residence and George O. Squires Chair of Distinguished Teaching at St. Christopher’s School in Richmond. He has authored three books of poetry—Its Ghostly Workshop (Louisiana State University Press, 2013), Moon Road: Poems 1986-2005 (Louisiana State University Press, 2007), and Running Again in Hollywood Cemetery (University Presses of Florida, 1988)—and has won numerous awards for his poetry, including the Carole Weinstein Poetry Prize, Southern Poetry Review’s Guy Owen Prize, and Poetry Northwest’s Theodore Roethke Prize. Smith will serve a two-year term. 

Katherine E. Young, the author of Day of the Border Guards (University of Arkansas Press, 2014), was appointed the poet laureate of Virginia's Arlington County in 2016.

upcoming events

Jul 23 2016
from these pages: restore and renew

Explore the theme of restoration and renewal along with local and national artists who will read aloud or perform their stories, poems and music.

Cash bar and farm-to-table nibbles available for purchase. Register in advance online or just show up at 8pm for the show (you might want to come early to grab a delicious farm-to-table dinner, too).

Call 703-470-1121 for more information. 

8:00pm to 10:00pm
616 North Main St
24540 Danville, Virginia

recent & featured listings

type name statesort ascending
Writing Program Hollins College Virginia
Writing Program George Mason University Virginia
Conference Virginia Festival of the Book Virginia
Reading Series University of Richmond Writers Series Virginia
Reading Series Virginia Commonwealth University's Visiting Writer Series Virginia
Conference Fall for the Book Festival Virginia
Conference The Annual Literary Festival at Old Dominion University Virginia
Literary Organization The Virginia Writers Club Virginia
Literary Organization Poetry Society of Virginia Virginia
Literary Organization Poetry Daily Virginia


Just past dusk I passed Christiansburg,
cluster of lights sharpening
as the violet backdrop of the Blue Ridge
darkened. Not stars
but blue-black mountains rose
before me, rose like sleep
after hours of driving, hundreds of miles
blurred behind me. My eyelids
were so heavy but I could see
far ahead a summer
I’m older than my father when he turned
bright gold and left his body with its used-up liver
in the Faulkner Hospital, Jamaica Plain.  I don’t 
believe in the afterlife, don’t know where he is 
now his flesh has finished rotting from his long 
bones in the Jewish Cemetery—he could be the only 
convert under